Bad Faith
by Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: DHr. Hermione often wondered why she always fancied men who were perfectly imperfect for her.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, it solely belongs to J.K. Rowling._

_**Bad Faith**  
by: Poisoned Scarlet_

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_**A/N: I declare this one-shot slightly inconsistent with the HP plot line! It was just something I thought up while musing during my lunch period at school. I hope you all like it and I do apologize if Draco and Hermione seem OOC. This would be the first time I write them and I'm still not sure if I captured them right. I know they're slightly friendly here but that's the way I started it off. Draco's still a sarcastic ass, though. I mean, come on, this is technically suppose to be a sort of angsty one-shot.**_

_**There will be another chapter to this but it will probably be a while before I post it up :)**_

_._

_._

_In dedication to SakuraPanda63,  
for being an attentive little sister and  
showing me that I'm not the only one out there  
in this cold, polluted and corrupt world. I hope  
that you enjoy this fanfiction and I wish you a happy be-lated birthday!_

* * *

She always knew the saying 'three times the charm' would, somehow, affect her greatly during her time span. It would completely destroy the carefully built predictability she had tried so hard to ensure in her life. She was a woman who thrived on disciplined order; environments where rules were enforced and upheld. She was a woman who scarcely lost control.

So it came to her as a shock when she first started... _feeling _things for him.

It also didn't make things any better when he decided to, unbeknownst to himself, break her in ways she would have never thought possible.

The first time she saw him was at the wedding.

* * *

_**I**_

She felt torn between relief and sadness.

She wrung her hands stiffly and smiled when one of the many butlers catering about bowed and handed her a glass of white wine. She sloshed the crystal clear liquid inside the glass before taking a drink, hoping it would ease her nerves.

It didn't.

She quietly cleared her throat as she finished the glass, timidly waving at another butler to come and dispose of it. He only gave her another one and soon that one was gone too.

She was currently attending the reception of the marriage between Ronald Weasley and... Lavender Brown. Or rather Weasley.

Her grip tightened on her half-empty glass of wine. It wasn't even a very good brand, she noticed once she caught sight of the bottle. But nevertheless it sufficed for the extravagant event. The Weasley's had definitely spent a grand amount of Galleons planning it, to her selfish dismay.

She held a thick, messy personal organizer under her arm and she resisted the temptation to sit down and leaf through it when Ginny Weasley glanced at her with a look akin to that of pity. She only smiled back, even going as far as offering the fierce redhead a small wave. Ginny let her lips fall into a small frown before she directed her attention to her date and whispered something in his ear.

She could hear herself groan softly when Ginny stood up and strutted her way to Hermione. The witch took this time to assess the young girls dress. It was beautiful – a slinky and tight black, low-cut, dress that hugged her curves magnificently. The pale of her skin matched along with the vibrancy of her fire hair made her black eyes glitter sensuously. She wore some rather high black heels and extravagant jewelry; a few golden chain's with pretty stones attached, sparkling earrings, bracelets, and rings.

Self-conscious, Hermione glanced down at her own dress. It was a dark forest green and swept across the floor beautifully. It was halter-style and Hermione was modest enough to pin up most of her showing cleavage to prevent any 'accidents'. Twice she had almost split wine all over her because of her thoughtfulness.

She wore a simple gold chain and a white-gold ring with a decent sized diamond on her finger. She wore little make up and her hair was loose and wavy.

"Hermione, what are you doing here all alone?" Ginny asked, standing beside the girl and sloshing her own drink in her hand. She took a sip before continuing. "If it makes you feel any better... I don't like her either." Ginny's sharp eyes fell on Lavender's puffy, Victorian-styled dress. She wrinkled her nose at the colour. "Lavender doesn't suit her," she muttered into her cup, eying the purplish colour with disgust.

Hermione managed a small grin. "I think it makes her skin look brighter and her black hair makes her look beautiful," she gazed inside her glass. "She'd make a lovely Mrs. Weasley."

Ginny chuckled and shook her head, tracing the edge of the glass with her fore finger. "Blood hell, you're the nicest person I have ever met, 'Mione." She shook her head again. "I would be causing up a scene right now if the person I loved married a bratty bitch like her. Hell, I'd probably have already cursed her dead!"

Hermione busied herself by adjusting the glass in her hand.

"I'm serious, Hermione," Ginny sighed, finally turning to the girl. "How could you be like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like _this,_" she waved her hand at her to prove her point. "So calm and normal. How could you just-just let him _go _this easily? I thought you loved Ron, Hermione, why are you letting—why did you _let _ this happen?"

Hermione avoided Ginny's desperate gaze as she answered. "I don't know."

"Don't give me this bullshit, Hermione. You do know. You're Hermione Jane Granger, brightest witch to ever attend Hogwarts, most successful out of the Golden Trio! You do know why, Hermione, _I _just don't know why. And trust me, even my mother, my brothers, our _friends,_ want to know why."

The last words stung her heart.

"Maybe..." Hermione gazed into the rippling waves her wine made with every jerk. Her face felt warm and she knew she was perspiring. The room felt hotter than before – despite the fact that it was nearly winter and the wind was already chilling. It was a wonderful, heated sensation. It made her feel slightly careless. "Maybe I just didn't love him enough, Ginny." She tossed her head back as she downed the entire glass in one mouthful.

Ginny was at a loss. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, before closing it once more and casting her gaze down.

"I—"

"I'm going to get another drink," Hermione said suddenly, "Would you like one, too?"

Ginny looked as if she wanted to say something. Instead she only smiled tightly and nodded. "Yeah, could you get me some of the red wine? I haven't tried that yet."

"Sure," Hermione quickly made herself scarce while Ginny watched her leave. When the reached the open bar she quickly ordered two more drinks. One glass of white wine and one of red. Again, she couldn't help but to criticize the lack of elegance. The wine was the cheapest she knew and the glasses weren't really of brand-mark.

But she shook her head of those bad thoughts. Even though Ronald Weasley was a war-hero that didn't mean he had to waste all of his fortune on his wedding... the most important night of his life... with the most important woman he ever met.

That wasn't her.

"You there, get me a glass of the finest wine you have," an arrogant voice said beside her. Hermione titled her head an inch to see a wisp of blond hair. She saw the bar tender had eyed the man before pouring him a glass of white wine and sliding it to him. She heard the man snort. "This is your finest wine? Rubbish, this it." But he drank it anyway.

Hermione couldn't resist a small, triumphant, smile. So she was not the only one with thoughts regarding the drinks.

"Malfoy... what are you doing here?" She took a breath and turned to him. When he looked up, he looked shocked.

"_Granger_?"

"In the flesh," she said with a severe lack of enthusiasm.

"The hell are you doing here?" Draco Malfoy put his glass down. After a seconds thought, a sly smirk pulled on his handsome face. "Well, aren't you the little brazen Gryffindor – coming to your ex-boyfriend's wedding." He feigned a thoughtful look. "Sources say you even _planned _the event, is that so...?"

Hermione swallowed thickly and nodded. "Y-Yes, that is so. I helped plan Ron and Lavender's wedding since... well, he asked me to—"

Draco scoffed and demanded another glass. "You're mad,"

"Why would you say that?" She was beginning to feel annoyed. Who gave him the right to judge her?

"Everyone know's you happen to be very much in love with that great oaf back there," he pointed to Ron, who was laughing with his new bride. "I never took you as masochistic, Granger."

"I am not torturing myself."

"Liar, everyone in a five mile radius could tell that you're trying not to cry right now." He never let his quicksilver eyes stray from hers as he drank his third drink. "It's pathetic."

Hermine nearly shattered the glass in her hand. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"What? It's only the truth."

"No one asked you."

"No one asked because they already knew."

"Shut up."

"I don't have to take orders from the likes of you," he pushed the glass back to the bar tender, who was looking wary as he watched the scene unfold. "But I must say, for a woman who enjoys learning the facts of life you aren't too keen on knowing _these._"

She didn't answer. She kept her head bowed and her hands fisted on her sides. Her eyes stung and she could feel the tears start to well in them. "You're... awful."

"No, I'm honest," he said, breezily. He glanced down at her, watched the outline of her arm tremble in the dim light.

"I didn't want you to be honest," he barely heard her whisper.

"Well, fuck!" he ordered another drink with a snap of his fingers. "Isn't that what you women always rave on about? Being honest? Make up your mind, for Salazar's sake."

"I'd prefer it if you weren't honest for this one night, how is that?" She said, stifling a sob. "Why can't you just be quiet?"

"Because then it's no fun," he smirked cockily, reaching into his breast pocket and unraveling a silken handkerchief. "Here."

"Oh, no."

"Take it."

"No, thank you."

"Merlin—take the bloody thing, Granger!" he shoved it into her palm and closed her fingers over it. "This is probably going to be the first and last time I will _ever _be kind to you. Don't fuck it up."

She stared at the blinding white cloth and smiled slightly. "Yeah..." She looked up and blinked more tears away. She sniffed and took a deep breath, regarding the bar tender with an edged smile as she wiped away the dry tears that streaked her face.

"God, this is the worst wine I have ever tasted." He slammed the glass down. "Fuck being polite; it's plain revolting."

"You aren't the only one," she murmured, eying her own glass miserably.

"You know, if you were the bleeding wedding planner why the hell did you order the worst type of wine?" he looked at the bottle and wrinkled his nose. "I'm surprised no one has gone to the loo to vomit it back out." He touched his flat stomach. "I'm getting there."

"I didn't choose out the wine," she admitted. "Lavender and Ron did. I only prepared the decorations, chose out the theme, ordered the bride maid's dresses, ordered the food and hired the musicians. I also contacted a special priest for the magical-bonding ceremony and I—"

"Alright, alright! No need to tell me your life's story, Granger."

She rolled her eyes and sniffled. "You asked, I answered."

"Touche,"

"Hmm.." She ordered a bottle of water. Even though their agreement in things were next to nothing, this was one thing they both felt mutual disappointment in: Ron and Lavender had the worst choice in drink. "Wait, really now. What are you doing here, Malfoy? Ronald hates your guts." She patted the handkerchief under her eyes.

"About time you asked – I'm actually here undercover." he revealed pridefully.

She cocked a brow. "You're not blending in very well."

He shrugged. "No one told me I had to disguise myself."

"Alright, you've trapped me," she said boredly. "Why are you here undercover?"

"I've been snapping pictures of the wedding and I'm going to sell them to Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet and perhaps the Quibbler... since I owe Loony Lovegood a favour." he answered easily, tapping his fingers on the bar's oak finish and, after a seconds thought, whipped out a camera and took a picture of his wine glass. "Perhaps I can humiliate the Weasley's by publishing an article about their utter lack of sense in choosing alcohol," he mused aloud.

Hermione was surprised. "You do know I could go ahead and tell Ron what you are planning, right?"

"Oh, I know."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because I am confident you won't." he replied simply.

"Oh?"

"Yes, that's right. Why would you go tell your arse of an ex-boyfriend, who invited his ex-girlfriend of three-years to his _wedding_, about little ole' me when you obviously have more issues to settle than myself? It's only a few pictures here and there..." he trailed off. "It wouldn't hurt anyone. Much."

"But Lavender specifically asked—"

"That fat cow asks for too much," Draco scoffed snootily. "What makes her so damn special that her wedding must be kept strictly confidential? Merlin, it's not like she's some famous witch – her family name wasn't even _known _until the Weasley decided to damn himself by marrying her." He paused. "By the way, fancy a bet with me, Granger?"

"A bet?" she echoed, pushing her previous comment away for another time. "What type of bet?"

"I bet you five Galleons and a favour that the Weasle and Brown won't last a year," he caught sight of her unopened bottle of water and cracked it open himself for a drink. "Hell, half a year." He nodded his head to the pair.

Hermione looked and saw Lavender and Ron whispering fiercely to one another, looking very displeased.

"Trouble in paradise... I've got this bet in the bag," he snickered.

"I never agreed to it."

"Ah, but you never disagreed either." he winked.

Hermione couldn't fathom why she wanted to look away at that moment but she managed to stifle the impulse. She snatched the bottle of water from his hands and scowled.

"That was mine."

"Well, now it's mine, don't you think?" he said snottily.

She took a drink out of it anyways and smiled smugly at Draco's aghast expression. "I reclaim it as my own, thank you very much." She took another drink just to spite him.

"Cleaver," he remarked dryly.

"Aren't I?"

"Well, aren't you on a _roll _tonight, Granger," he bit back sarcastically, snatching the bottle from her hand and twisting it in his palm. "It's almost like before."

"When we were Head's it was much worse, Malfoy, you know that." Hermione sighed. "We couldn't go five minutes without trying to chop important bodily parts from one another."

"Good times," he said airily. "I was so close to punching out your ovaries – it's a pity you never managed to enrage me to that point."

"That's disgusting."

"Please, I do recall you saying, quote, 'I want to kick you in the balls', unquote. Only fair to return the favor."

"You deserved it, prick."

"Right back at you, you bother." he unscrewed the cap and finished the rest of the water. Hermione's searing remark died on her lips the instant she saw him throw the bottle away. She had drunk out of it and yet he tarnished his lips with her own? Malfoy _had_ changed some, she thought quietly. Gradually, he had become less and less prejudice though she knew he was nowhere near the point of openly admitting this. He had never acted on it; at least not in the superfluous way he usually did things.

She didn't know what to say and she concluded that if she were to comment on it, he would probably say something nasty and thus would ensue a very violent row between the two and scene for the guests to enjoy. She decided that she liked the way their conversation was steering to. She didn't want to ruin this tentative friendship they had developed.

Or perhaps she just didn't want another emotional blow from a person she knew fairly well would deliver said blow if provoked.

He seemed to be waiting for her to comment, too, by the way he stared at her. When she said nothing, he added: "So, are you in, Granger?"

She rose her eyes to his. His dark, glinting, slate ones. They glowed in the dim lighting as the bride and groom danced in the middle of the ballroom. She hadn't even noticed the lights had dimmed even more and the music had gotten sickening romantic. His smoldering gaze made her arms prickle with anticipation and she didn't push away the feeling this time. His eyes had always made her feel naked; vulnerable. During their Seventh Year she would avoid all eye contact or just avoid him in general; his piercing gaze was too much for her, his roaming eyes left pleasant burn trails everywhere they looked.

She smiled, the first true smile in the entire night, and nodded. She held her hand out, locking her own whiskey colored eyes with his. "I'm in."

They shook hands.

And when they let go, Draco promptly excused himself and disappeared from view faster than she could blink.

She unconsciously touched her hand, still able to feel the hot warmth of his palm in her own.

She wondered why she felt slightly better than before as Ginny appeared beside her, looking disgruntled and demanding what held her up for approximately ten minutes.

"I met an old _friend_," was her vague response, seeing his body silently disappear out of the room as both Lavender and Ron twirled on the dance floor, one looking blissfully happy and the other looking inscrutable.

* * *

_**II**_

Three months later she found herself sitting on a window sill, shifting her body in a way that helped shadow the book she had prepped on her lap, and squinting her eyes against the bright morning sun.

_It's so bright out today, _was her first thought as she reached for her steaming cup of tea. She was a regular in the little tea shop a block down her flat in muggle London. She seemed keen on avoiding the Wizarding world ever since Ron had decided to end their relationship. She would admit that for a few months, she had been hurting. It had cut her up deeply that he had been having an affair with Lavender for most of their relationship.

She would never understand the mentality of cheaters, she concluded just weeks later; after several hours of releasing all the pent up sorrow. If he never loved her, why had he continued the relationship? All he was doing was slowly immersing her deeper in her now-obvious one-sided love for him. He was just tangling her up in the web of carefully crafted lies and watching as they all gradually fell apart.

There was a tap on the window.

She looked up and frowned. There was no one there. She lived in a rather rural part of London – not wanting to attract so much attention to herself by living in the more lively sector of said city. Not many people walked past her as she read, mostly because of the time she awoke.

Who wanted to take a breezy stroll at seven in the morning?

"In all honestly, tell me, how many books have you read in your entire life?" someone drawled from behind her. She quickly turned, feeling her stomach clench in anticipation, and stared at the shaped form of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy? What are you doing in _muggle_ London?"

"Business," he deflected easily, "Now answer my question."

_How many books have I read in my life? _She thought. "Too many to count."

"Give me a rough estimate."

"Oh, I don't know," she pursed her lips, wondering why he was being so persistent. "About seven hundred?"

"Seven—holy shit, forget I asked." He didn't look too surprised though. "You read the entire Hogwart's library, right?"

"Yes..."

"Including the Restricted Section, no?"

"Yes... with the exception of twenty editions related to the Dark Arts. I could not read those without a few strands of Unicorn hair, a rabbits foot and some other object of purity." she explained.

Draco blinked slowly. "... Really?"

"Yes—" her eyes widened. "Oh, you did not!"

He grinned shamelessly. "Whoops."

Hermione shook her head, surprised he managed to read the dark literature unscathed. "You're vile."

"I prefer the term unethical," he pipped, taking seat in the pleasant wrought table and chair set beside her.

She rolled her eyes. "You have to come to terms with it sometime – you are a cruel, selfish, self-righteous fool with absolutely no sense of guilt, morality or any humble inclination."

Draco hummed before saying, "Observant," he smirked wickedly. "You've been watching me for a while there, huh, Granger?"

She blanched at the implication. "Get bent, Malfoy."

"Always the kinky one," he winked, throwing his head back in laughter when she shot him a sharp look.

"Really, what are you doing here, Malfoy?" she slipped in a bookmark and closed her book, setting it aside though her eyes lingered longingly. It was just barely getting interesting and he had to come and mess everything up. Such Malfoy-like behavior, she thought wryly.

"I told you, business."

"What type of business?" she asked suspiciously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Nothing shady or illegal, I assure you. I am a temporary substitute for the head of Department of Muggle Relations if you're wondering though." He eyed her warm tea for a moment.

"The department of—good God, you mean to tell me that you willing took up the offer to support _muggles_?" She stressed, staring at him with some amazement. She knew Malfoy had changed, per say, but she would have never imagined this drastic turn in his personality. Ironically, his egotistical way of doing things had never really changed.

"Noo, I decided to pursue Wizarding Nazism and am now three quarters of a way down my list to supreme world domination." he remarked sarcastically, scowling when he saw her lift my tea cup to her lips and finish the drink.

"Haven't you already tried that?" She paused. "And _failed?_"

"Cute." He stood up and headed towards the counter, where she saw him order and pay and soon a large cup of what looked like coffee was served to him along with three chocolate donuts. When he sat back down, picking up one of the delectable deserts, he said, "Want one?"

Hermione rose a brow. "Since when do you share?"

"I don't." He took a bite. "For some unfathomable reason she gave me an extra donut. Daft bint can't count," he took a tentative drink of his coffee and continued to munch on his freshly baked donut without a care in the world.

Hermione frowned and looked up to the woman behind the register, watching as she fawned over Malfoy silently. She felt slightly annoyed at this but nonetheless let the emotion slide off her mind as she took a donut and took a big bite out of it. All the while, she was staring at the woman, who had finally noticed her presence, and looked severely disappointed.

"Daft bint, indeed," she murmured, chewing slowly.

"I'm winning," Draco said abruptly.

"Pardon?"

"I said, I'm winning the bet, Granger," he smirked. "The Weasle and his wife are currently experiences an economical breakdown of extraordinary proportions!" He looked quite happy when he said this.

"Ron's having financial issues?" she asked, worried. Even though he was her bastard ex-boyfriend who had the nerve to invite her to his wedding, make her _plan _it, and even ignore her and _not _give her any credit for the work she did, he was still her friend. He was still Ronald Weasley from their school days.

Draco scoffed and stuffed the last bit of donut in his mouth almost petulantly. "Leave it to you to ruin my fun. But yes, Granger, Weasley is having severe financial problems. He was recently kicked off the Chudley Canons for nearly sending one of the teams best players to the hospital," he snickered. "Bloody fool has awful timing for these sort of things."

"Fighting..." she mumbled, concerned. "Ron doesn't usually go off picking fights at random." And he didn't. Mostly because he could control his temper and because not many people had the nerve to anger a Weasley – they were known for their explosive tempers.

"You should know, you're that pansy's best mate along with Potty." he said, flippantly. "But I suppose when he _does_ have a reason, Salazar have mercy on whatever soul who managed to invoke his wrath." Draco added thoughtfully. "But the point is the same: the oaf has horrible timing for these sorts of things. It's all about timing, I should know. That was how I always win my fights – whether they be intellectual or physical."

"Yes, that was why you so gloriously managed to best me in academics, right?" she taunted.

"Hah, I was only being a gentlemen and _allowed_ you to best me, Granger," he smoothly evaded the accusation. Hermione felt mildly impressed by his evading skills. Though they were usually cowardly and used to inflate his already grandiosely inflated ego.

"Since when does a Mudblood such as I deserve your courtesy?" she asked rhetorically, picking off pieces of her donut almost sullenly. Over the years, the derogatory term had lost most of it's luster. It no longer affected her as it did when she had been a First Year, which was, usually, to the point of tears. It could even count as a term of endearment, she thought sardonically, looking at his cup of coffee and thinking she should go get one herself to wash down all the sugar trapped in her canines.

He was silent.

"Your blood may not be of higher quality, Granger, but you're still a girl." and then he tightened his coat around his body and did something that would leave her disastrously confused for hours on end.

He sent her a devastatingly beautiful smile.

It was the first time he had ever smiled at her without the underlying malice he usually conveyed with his eyes rather than words; he had mastered the art of deception which was probably why she refused to speak to him on a daily basis. But that didn't seem to matter to her at the moment.

The smile made his slate eyes light up almost passionately.

They smoldered into her own amber orbs and made heat rise to her cheeks. She almost spat the donut out of her mouth when she realized she thought it was probably the most gorgeous expression she had ever laid eyes on. His Malfoy features enhanced and to make things possibly worse she had never, ever thought of him to be ugly or average – he had always been relatively handsome though his foul personality usually dulled his _above _average features.

Then he smirked knowingly, something which didn't settle well with her.

She felt her heart pound harder than it had ever done in all her twenty years of life and wondered why she had glanced back to the woman at the register and empathized with her for one brief moment.

* * *

_**III**_

Four more months found her viciously grabbing the latest edition of _The Daily Prophet _and tearing it in to pieces while the moving pictures on the front page gasped in silent horror. She breathed in a steady stream of air and forced herself to calm down. But the wrenching sensation in her chest wouldn't pause, not even for a second, and she ended up sprawling on her kitchen floor, missing the chair by a hair.

"_Shit_," she buried her face in her palms and forced down another curse. She wasn't one to swear; not without reason. She rationalized that this situation was reason enough to swear but she still didn't. She wouldn't stoop down to his level. Only _he _would swear when problems arose; only he would explode as she wanted to at the moment.

Her gaze was drawn back to the shredded magical newspaper, to the black bold caption:

_**REFORMED DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY AND SUPER MODEL ASTORIA GREENGRASS – ENGAGED?**_

Another stab ripped through her chest. Engaged? He had asked for her hand in marriage? She didn't know what to think; what to _feel._

But she knew that at the moment she was feeling horribly betrayed. She knew she should not be feeling betrayed; he promised her nothing. She should not be feeling so terrible but she was. Ever since she had witnessed his heartbreaking smile she had wanted to see it more and more. After their first encounter in the cozy tea shop they had begun to meet far more frequently than she liked.

They met on the streets of wizarding London and even muggle London more times than she could blame on coincidence and everytime they would chat one another up and go have some tea or simply walk alongside each other for hours. She didn't know if perhaps it was _her _subconscious steering her to all the locations she was sure she would find him or if it was something else in general.

Secretly, she hoped it was _he _who sought her out. But that was wishing for too much: Draco Malfoy did not seek out _anyone _without ulterior motives that were usually conniving and sinister. Much less a simplistic, muggle-born witch with too little friends and too much knowledge.

Why would anyone?

That was her one-track mentality for the rest of the morning. Why would anyone – much less someone like _him –_ want a simple, muggle-born witch as someone they could relate to? As she went about her daily routine, she was bombard by flyer's and moving images of the alleged couple. It took everything in her not to crumple them up and lock herself up in her room.

Why was she even _basking _in the despairing black she had willing wrapped herself in? It was absurd! Why should _she _be feeling so torn up and battered? It was _he _who should be feeling awful, wretched and vile. _He _led her on, _he _made provoked those feelings.

She stopped her quill and dipped it into the ink bottle.

It was ironic – she had always deluded herself into thinking he was a masochistic, sadistic and foul man. And with good reason, too. And yet she still started... _feeling _things for him. More than once they had treaded on topics far too uncomfortable for either to continue.

His unhealthy love for his father.

Her once-infatuation with Ronald Weasley.

His sealed Dark Mark.

Her grief for her still-obliviated parents.

And yet they had managed to _talk _about them; to rid themselves of the strong, adhesive-like, suffocation both were cursed with handling on their own. Most of these sessions of rehabilitation, as Hermione often called them, happened when both were either heavily smashed or simply too distraught to care what the other thought.

She slammed her quill down on her desk and dug the heel of her palm into her eyes viciously. What was she doing? Pondering on old times like this! She should be _working. _She should not be letting her mind relive past events only to feel the remorse and sorrow that echoed with every memory.

"Stop it, Hermione," she whispered. "You can't do this to yourself – he's just a man. He's just a _man_." she stressed, catching her breath, and continuing her work with a calmer composure.

That's right.

He was just a man.

A man who happened to have her heart served on a cold silver platter – even if he didn't know it yet.

_**.z.**_

The third day after the announcement of his supposed 'engagement', she hadn't once picked up an edition of _The Daily Prophet. _So far, all she knew was that he was getting magically bonded (because the wizarding world worked..._differently _than the muggle world) with some anorexic, snobby, super model. And he hadn't even bothered to _tell _ her after all this time, too!

This crucial piece of information – he hadn't even _bothered_. To her. His best friend. Because even though Hermione knew her feelings for that man surpassed platonic decency, she knew that everything he had told her he hadn't told anyone else in a very, very long time.

That meant – whether he acknowledged it or not – they were best friends. He was _her _best friend, at least. Not even Harry knew about her twisted up feelings for her parents, the crushing blow she'd received when Ron had told her he was marrying Lavender Brown. He might've had an idea but certainly no proof of this.

And even after all that Malfoy decided to go ahead and tie the knot with some witch he barely knew? To some woman who could never _understand _him?

But then again why should she care? She knew he had good judgment (somewhat) and he was definitely old enough to make decisions on his own. That in itself was reason enough.

Maybe that was why he never confided this with her. His engagement, she meant.

She felt sick again.

_Maybe I just need to talk to someone about this, _she thought wisely, looking at her wringing hands, a habit she had obtained somewhere during her fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts. _Ginny? No, she's out shopping with Padma today. Ron? Oh, I don't even know if he's busy... Harry? _She nodded slowly. Yes, Harry! Harry Potter! Harry could keep a secret. Harry was level-headed enough to figure this out. _Harry _was her only release right now, in this moment.

"_You could trust me with anything, 'Mione," _hadn't he once said?

Hermione stood up and pushed all of her half-finished work into a document. She shoved it into one of her cabinets and rushed out her office in a flurry of dark robes. She apologized to every person she bumped into, wondering why it was so bloody full and getting her answer in the form of a clock.

It was lunch, of course it'd be bustling with witches and wizards; all eager to get something in their empty stomachs.

Finally, after running down the stairs and making it to the other side of the Ministry building, to where the Auror's department was located, she managed to make it to Harry's personal office. But first she needed to catch her breath.

That's when she heard _his _voice.

As she slowly neared the door, looking over her shoulder to see no one there, she pressed her ear to the door at precisely the wrong moment.

She figured she had the knack for these things.

"So are you really going to marry her, mate?" Harry.

"Yes, Potter, I am. I'm going to marry her, fuck her senseless for one night, have a dozen little Malfoy's and then watch them all grow up and live a decent life. I deserve it, do I not?" She didn't hear any sarcasm. She desperately wanted to hear his sharp sarcasm. Because then perhaps it wouldn't have hurt as much as it did at the moment.

Hermione felt a pain she never felt before. If discovering he was getting engaged had been heartbreaking then this was _far, far _worse. She shakily stepped away from the door; away from their mocking laughter; _away _from everything.

It took her twenty minutes to make it from her office to Harry's.

This time around it took her ten.

_**.z.**_

One day after his vocal confirmation on said marriage, she found herself impulsively writing a note to her boss specifically stating that she would like to take her vacation now. She had not _ever_ missed work for their designated vacation. Usually, her boss would give her some work if he had any and pay her for it as extra; since she was suppose to be on 'break'.

But Hermione Granger didn't do breaks.

Unless absolutely necessary, that is. And the situation she had mixed herself in was definitely necessary.

She needed a breather. She needed some time to herself to sort out her emotions. She needed to seal them up, lock them tight, throw away the key, and come back cool, calm and collected. Just as she had for Ron's wedding.

She smiled bitterly to herself as she collected her four page request. Every man she had a smidgen of attraction to had managed to get themselves married to someone other than herself. She cast her gaze down to her black flats.

What, exactly, made men think they should find some witch and marry when they were around her?

And why couldn't it ever be her?

"Vacation?!" Her bosses' secretary gasped as she skimmed through her request. "Hermione, we're far from the usual break we give you! It's not even December yet! What do you—"

"I know, I know," she agreed dishearteningly. "But I need this, Karla. I really need this right now. Please just give me two weeks—one week at the most! I just need a break."

Karla looked unsure. "Well..."

"I have never taken a break before," Hermione coaxed. "Ever since I applied for this job I have never once asked for a break. I always save them... so please? I should have at least two years there," she added jokingly, wanting to scrub away Karla's indecision.

Karla sighed softly, "Hermione, you're head of the Department of International Relations – this isn't a job you could so easily take a break from." But one look at Hermione's fallen face made her suck in a sigh. "I'll see what I can do, though."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Hermione chorused gratefully. "I owe you for this."

"That you do," she chuckled. "I'll owl you when your time is up. At most, I could give you three weeks – but you must finish the assignment boss gave you. I believe he gave it to you yesterday, right?" she asked professionally, raising a sharp eyebrow.

Hermione nodded, almost cheerfully. Her gloomy thoughts dampened her mood considerably. "Yes, don't worry. I'll have it finished before you know it."

"Good... well, then, wow." Karla smiled. "You must have a pretty big reason to take a break in the middle of working season, right?"

Hermione knew she meant that with good intentions, but that still didn't help her mood brighten. She felt even more cowardly than before. She even wanted to take it back, to take back her request letter and just scurry back to her office where she would drown her sorrows with a few heavy assignments. Wasn't she suppose to be a brazen Gryffindor?

"_... Well, aren't you the brazen little Gryffindor?" _

She winced at the memory and pushed _his_ drawl away from her mind. But the memory seemed to give her enough courage to not take the letter back.

"Yes... I do." Hermione briskly walked away without a goodbye and managed to leave the busy building with no conflict.

At least, she managed to leave without seeing Harry Potter clamber out of the elevator, looking thoroughly shell-shocked at what he eavesdropped on.

_**.z.**_

She had all her bags packed in minutes after she got home. Magic reduced the hours she usually spent on her luggage. That or the fact that she was desperate to clear her mind in a place where magic was laughed at, Draco Malfoy didn't exist, and nothing else but sweet normality mattered.

She still didn't know where she would go but she'd tell you it would be somewhere _far. _

She didn't think of this as avoiding the situation; oh, no, far from that. She hadn't spoken to Draco since she had read that _Daily Prophet _article and she was certainly not going to tell him of her extended break. No. After all, he hadn't told her of his engagement; why should she tell him of her vacation?

He had made it quite clear that they weren't that close. She was probably his emotional trash bin – something used and just as easily disposed of. He had showed her what she was to him. Very clearly. And she tried not to let the burning in her heart get to her.

She knew she was being childish; he had no obligation to tell her anything. Yet she wanted him to. But he _wasn't_ and she had finally wrapped her mind around it.

It also didn't hurt to have a short break, though, right? Merlin knew she needed it.

_I need this too, _she thought absently, _How many times had Harry and Ron told me about my workaholic status? Well, this should quiet them for a while at least. _She thought positively. Yeah, thing's were beginning to look up now.

She secured her bags and levitated them to her living room. Gathering all her documents, an extra bottle of ink, and a couple of quills, she took one last look around her plain flat. Her eyes lingered on the armchair Draco had mostly sat in during his visits.

"_Christ, Granger, you have awful taste," _he had said the first time he entered her home. _"The hell is that?!"_

"_That's a chair, Malfoy. You know, things you use to sit in?"_

"_Shit doesn't look like one! It looks like your demon cats decaying scratching post!"_

She remembered laughing at that. She remembered seeing him raise a brow but crack a small smile nevertheless. She remembered how he sat down anyway and started criticizing her other furniture; how he snootily said that if she were to let him redecorate he'd show her what _real _style was.

She remembered she took him up on the offer but only laughed when he smirked mischievously.

Hermione apparated to the nearest Floo station and from there made her way to the beautiful city of Cancun, Mexico.

That was far enough, right?

_**.z.**_

"God, Hermione, if you wanted to escape reality for a few days, why did you have to choose the sunniest place on Earth?" she groaned to herself as she dropped her bags insider her luxurious hotel room five hours later. It really wasn't a long trip. Taking one of the numerous Floo fireplaces that lined a wall, she decided that perhaps taking a dip in Cancun's warm waters would do just the trick.

She forgot that Cancun was absolutely sweltering and _bright._

She ignored all the letters she got from Harry and literally burned the two letters Draco had sent her. She didn't need him to ruin her break. Nope. This was for her. Her and only her.

In Cancun it was barely noon and she wasn't feeling tired at all. It wasn't as bad when you traveled magically. Hermione was starting to feel a little excited, as a matter of fact. So _this _was why Ginny and all her other girl friends acted on impulse.

It was exciting. But at the same time risky.

What if something happened at work and she was needed?

"Oh, come off it!" she scoffed, rummaging through her bag and taking out the bikini Ginny and Parvati had bought her a few years back. It was a spandex, black, two piece halter and it still fit her. She wrapped a thin, black towel around her waist as she thought the bottom piece of the bikini resembled her most indecent knickers.

Which meant it was just way too _revealing _for her tastes.

But she didn't own another pair and she figured buying a new one would only insult Ginny and Parvati's sense of style.

And that's how she found herself on the warm, sandy, beaches of one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. She laid her towel down near a palm tree to keep her shaded and set her book down beside her. She sat down and decided, for once, to just lay back and _chill, _as Padma had once told her. Her book lay forgotten and she knew that compared to all the other women on the beach, she was probably the most decent.

Honestly, she felt embarrassed for the women who strutted around in a bikini's that basically left _nothing _for the imagination. At least she was modest enough to cover up her valuables even though at the moment she was showing more skin than she'd prefer.

A ball bounced off her wrist and she shot up, reaching back to pull out her wand and feeling embarrassed when she remembered she had transfigured it into a silver bracelet. She didn't need muggles asking why she was carrying a stick that looked suspiciously like a wand around.

"Hey, could you throw us the ball?" a teenage boy called, waving his hand. Hermione grabbed the ball and threw it about in her hands.

"Catch!" she yelled, throwing it with all her might. It managed to make it to the boys arm and he shot her a thumbs up, sending her a boyish grin. She smiled back.

He was actually pretty cute.

_But he's what? Fifteen? _She laughed in her mind. _Much too young for my tastes. _Her eyes roamed the crowded beach, drinking in all the bare chests and sculpted legs. But somehow none of them appealed to her as much as _his..._

How, do you ask, would she know that?

Hermione felt her cheeks burn at the memory...

_She had been invited over to his over-exaggerated Manor for tea and was not happy about it. Mostly he had invited her over was because he was planning to cheat her in with Harry's plans for her birthday bash. She knew it was wrong but she dreaded surprises._

_She usually ended up ruining everything by fainting... or tripping over something._

_Or just not coming at all because she figured Harry's so called 'emergency' could wait; having known the fellow for little more than a decade._

"_You're late," was his greeting when she entered the Manor's abundant garden. A house elf had led her to him and she was mostly satisfied that he was wearing clothes; indicating that it was, indeed, free and could do whatever it wished. She guessed that Malfoy had ordered that specific house elf to greet her at the door but she decided not to scold it out of him – he would most likely end up ignoring her or threaten not to tell her about her 'surprise' party._

_It technically wasn't a surprise anymore since he had already told her already but she wanted to know the specifics of this certain party. And she wanted to spend some time with him. But she ignored the second reason for various reasons._

"_I am not," she glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes. "Only by three minutes, Lord Malfoy." she said sarcastically, earning a prideful look in return, though. She rolled her eyes again._

"_The point remains the same: you are late, Ms Granger," he smirked, lifting his cup to his lips. That was when she noticed what he was wearing._

"_Good God—DRACONIUS MALFOY!" She screeched, her face burning scarlet and her finger pointed accusingly to his bare chest. "GET DRESSED THIS INSTANT!!"_

_Draco grinned wickedly. "Why ever would I do that? This is my house and I could do whatever suits my fancy."_

"_It's common courtesy that when you invite a person over – who happens to be a girl, by the way – you come DRESSED and APPROPIATE!"_

_He kept grinning._

"_Blood hell, Malfoy, DO IT!" She stomped to him, grabbed his arm, and shoved him through the patio's glass doors. He spun on his heel and opened his arms wide, giving her a gander of his toned abdomen and sculpted chest. At least he had on a pair of black sweats to cover his privates, she thought dryly, though her cheeks only flushed harder when she caught herself staring._

"_What? I'm giving you a free show here, Granger, and you're kicking me out?" he tsked and slowly turned away, the same wicked spark in his slate eyes. "'Can't appreciate the good things in life..."_

"_Good things!?" she shrieked. "You're half-naked and that's suppose to be a good thing?!"_

"_Happy birthday, by the way!" His distant voice rang clearly in her ears. Her cheeks only seemed to flame up some more when her eyes kept being drawing to his bottom. Why did he have to walk like that? She knew he was exaggerating his walk! And yet she still found her eyes drawn to his rather lovely arse._

_She pinched her wrist and shook her head._

"_NOT FUNNY!!"_

_All she heard was his far-away laughter._

Hermione groaned and fell back on the bumpy sand floor. She recalled that after about half an hour of waiting she had stomped in the direction he had gone in a rage and kicked open his bedroom door, only to find him lounging on his bed, his sweats off and clad only in silk black boxes and a Cheshire grin on his face when her face went scarlet.

She distinctly remembered screeching: _"YOU AWFUL GIT! THAT'S IT; I AM LEAVING!"_

And she did leave; with his mocking crackle resounding in her ears and his heavily amused eyes in her head the whole time. Though she did happen to get 'lost' and managed to leave the manor and hour after yelling at him, which gave her enough time to cool off and regain her composure. But by then it was too late and she could not go back to him only to meet his jeering gaze. He'd probably tease her about her not leaving until the ends of her days. He'd probably accuse her of enjoying the sight of his nakedness when clearly that was not the issue; his house was just too bloody big.

But somehow she knew that he knew she had wondered his home for nearly an hour before finding the front door.

Hermione discreetly transfigured her thick book into a fluffy, white, pillow and tucked it under her head, the hard floor finally making it ache.

As she stared at the spectacular blue sky, laden with large white clouds that promised heat, she remembered the first time she felt the chords of jealously strike within her. She did not recognize the emotion until later, in the black of night, when she analyzed her day and was horror-struck that she would even _feel_ such intense hatred for that beautiful, curvaceous blond who dared to lay a hand on him...

_It was cold. It was pouring and she had just been rushing down the street, a package in her arms, when she saw a streak of bright silver ahead. But she kept her head down and continued to hurry down the soaked streets of wizarding London._

_She hadn't brought an umbrella because the sky had been a pleasant blue when she entered the post office. But an hour later proved her wrong, as the sky turned into a rumbling black and soon it began to rain torrents. _

_She could always cast a spell around her but her hands were busy trying to keep the package dry. And her wand was stuffed deeply into her jean pocket. She'd have to stop to shuffle it out and she knew that if she paused for one moment, the cold would probably overwhelm her._

_As she stood on the edge of the street, waiting for the flood of magical beings to thin, she felt the rain stop hitting her and a sudden warmth engulf her. Her clothes were wrung out and the water splashed to the heels of her flats and her hair was suddenly magically dried; making it poof out slightly. She tried to flatten it the best she could._

"_I thought you were smart, Granger. Running around in the rain without a sweater on is quite stupid on your part." a voice said from beside her._

_Hermione scowled and adjusted the package in her hand. "I was _busy_, Malfoy, I am sure you have heard of the term?"_

"_Retract your claws, I'm not here to start up another argument with you – regardless of how amusing it is."_

_She rolled her eyes and finally looked at him. He was wearing an ink black robe that actually looked cozy and warm. His hands were in his pockets and his shiny shoes were as polished as always. His blond hair was, for once, loose and most locks gravitated to his dark gray eyes, which reflected the brewing storm above._

_He looked as if he had had a bad day and Hermione decided, for the sake of her own patience, she would not irritate him so long as he did not take his anger out on her. He had done that on several occasions and it only ended in screams and hexes._

"_What's wrong?" she asked, and he didn't even glance at her as they walked. "Malfoy? You look like death – did something happen at work?" she probed, edging a smile on her face when she saw the tip of his own shapely lips twitch. "All right then, I see how it is... does it have to do with your boss?" No reaction. "Hm, your work?" No reaction. "Did you get into another fight with someone? Another employee annoy you?" His jaw clenched. "Alright. An annoying employee... but that's not all, is it? Let's see... oh! Someone crossed you and now you are plotting their demise and it happens to be the employee that annoyed you, right?" He turned his head away and she grinned. "Success! Now, Malfoy, revenge will get you nowhere. You should know better than to—"_

"_Don't tell me what to do, woman," he grumbled, and she only rose a brow._

"_Don't take this out on me. I do not know what this 'co-worker' of yours did to cross you but I am sure you are simply blowing it out of proportion." she explained a matter-of-factly, recalling all the times he had blown situations out of proportion for the simple cost of his overinflated ego. _

_He really had to control that growing problem – she didn't know how much more she could take of his conceit towards himself and his accomplishments. They weren't even that _great _in her eyes. But apparently other people thought that, for a Death Eater, he was veering in a pretty damn good direction and for that he deserved a big pat on the back and global recognition. _

"_Blowing it out of proportion?!" he snapped, "That bloody fool humiliated me in front of everyone! Christ, if there was anyone I'd rather murder at the moment it'd be that oaf Livingston!"_

_She smiled knowingly. "Him again."_

_Draco sent her a searing glare and walked faster, ignoring her frown and her attempts to keep up with his long strides._

"_Look, all I'm saying is for you to calm down and think rationally," she said, and spotted a small tea house a few steps ahead. "Would you accompany me for some tea?" _

_He didn't say anything but he did slow down and let her take the lead. When she entered the tea house she was blown away by the intense smells that wafted to her rosy, cold nose. The inside was warm and welcoming; nearly empty as the rain pounded on the glass. She chose to sit towards the back – where people were less likely to eavesdrop on their conversation._

_She put her package by her and glanced at Draco, who was skimming through the menu moodily. She bit a smile; he was always so temperamental. She would bet two Galleons that once she sorted this out for him logically, his anger would seem nearly foolish._

_A beautiful, blond, waitress strutted towards them, clad in a uniform severely indecent for a tea house. Hermione tried not to let the disgust show on her face as she ordered a simple green tea._

"_Hello, I'm Dru and I'll be your waitress for the evening." Her smile was perfect, Hermione thought gloomily, and her shape impeccable. She had curves in the right places and Hermione was sure the girl could pass as a Veela – if not for the black lines she saw at the root of her 'blond' hair._

_Draco wasted no time, to her dark surprise. He sent her a charming smile and twisted his body at an angle, showing her his built muscles quite clearly. She would bet he had done this lots of times._

_The first thing that left his mouth, to her utter shock, was, "My, aren't you a beautiful doll." and to her revolt the girl had actually _fell _for that lame pick up line! Hermione couldn't be any more enraged. She clenched her jaw and picked up her menu once more, pretending to read into an entry when the girl glanced at her briefly._

_Well, at least she had the decency to make sure she wasn't his girlfriend!_

_At that, she blushed. As if she would ever date an easy git like him! She glanced up at him, at his charming smile, the charming things he said, and how suave his voice sounded. She gripped the menu and chewed on her bottom lip shrewdly._

He's such an asshole! _She thought darkly. _I invite him for tea and give him the opportunity to talk out his problems to someone who won't judge him and he repays me by flirting with the bleach blond! Jerk! _She crossed her legs and stared holes into the menu. She pumped her leg up and down when she __began to get restless._

_Where was her bloody tea, anyways?!_

"_Excuse me?" she asked, and both stopped chatting. The girl looked at her warily and he sent her a scathing glare. She sent him a sneer and he looked almost taken aback. "Can you please go order my tea now?"_

"_Oh, yes, right! I'm sorry!" The girl quickly left, but not before shooting Draco a dreamy look._

"_Christ, Granger, can't you shut your trap for one bleeding second?" He hissed at her the instant the waitress was out of ear-shot._

"_I've barely spoken a word, you ungrateful prick!" Hermione hissed back. "You're the only trying to score a lay!"_

_He scowled. "Any louder?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it. She looks willing." She rested back on the seat, feeling her mood connect with the stormy, unsettling torrents outside. "Lucky you."_

"_What is up with you?" Draco muttered, actually looking slightly confused._

"_What is up with me?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're trying to get laid and I'm trying to help you _not_ ruin your 'perfect'," she air-quoted, "reputation with the wizarding world just because one asshole co-worker decided he takes pleasure in crossing you! The least you could do is thank me, for Godric's sake!"_

_He rolled his eyes, looking bored. "Is that it?"_

_She could feel her blood boil beneath her veins and before she could let out a scathing remark that would surely wound him, the waitress came back with her tea and his coffee. It started again immediately: the lusty looks, the flirting, the smiles._

_It took everything in Hermione not to snap right then and there and tell her to beat it. She knew it would look wrong and the fact that it was bothering her so much was making her worried. There was an uncomfortable churning in her stomach that she couldn't squish down and suddenly she had the urge to go to the loo._

"_Pardon me," she mumbled, standing and grabbing her package. They didn't look at her; they were too busy eying each other up. She briskly walked to the loo and the instant she entered she clenched her hands into fists, set her jaw, and glared her most awful glare into the tiled wall._

"_Bastard!" She had spat into the mirror. But she really got a good look at herself she was shocked to see her nose was wrinkled in hatred and her eyes reflected pits of black. Her mother had always told her that when she got angry enough, her eyes would darken. Well, then, she must be livid because both were simply scalding to look into. _

_She closed them and took several breaths, trying to calm the sickness in her stomach and the rash beating of her heart. She had to calmed own. Why was she getting all worked up for? Draco had flirted with other women in her presence. Hell, he had completely forgotten about her sometimes and most times she would usually tell him she had to leave and he would nod and say goodbye. Usually he would watch her leave before continuing his chats. That comforted her somewhat but this time he seemed to have taken it too far..._

_When she exited the loo, she froze. The woman had taken her seat and was laughing at something he said. He was looking very animated, moving his hands and even cracking a grin himself. He looked better than when _she_ was with him, trying to please him, to her utter disbelief._

_Who would have thought that Hermione Granger would try to please Draco Malfoy? _

_She felt something tug inside of her but it was momentarily replaced by the current of fury that flooded her system. She was thankful she had taken all of her belongings; she didn't think she could handle going back there to get them. She didn't think she could answer all of his questions at her early departure. _

_The woman looked at her and she laughed even harder._

_Hermione felt her cheeks flame up. They were talking about her. Her hand clenched over the white box she held and she made the bee-line for the door, rushing out into the pouring rain and flinching when the arctic water splashed on her warm skin._

_The spells had worn off..._

_It didn't matter, without a look back to the tea shop, she rushed her way down the nearly empty sidewalk. In the rain. Freezing to the bone. And that irrational hatred for the girl still singeing her nerves._

_It was until later, when she was tucked in her bed, sniffling and dismally thinking that perhaps she had gotten sick during her walk, that she came to the conclusion that her 'hatred' and 'anger' and 'hurt' all led to one, single word:_

_Jealousy._

Hermione slide her arm over her eyes as laughter and mindless chatter drifted to her ears. She listened to the females gossip about some brand new movie-star and the males blabber about the many gorgeous women that prowled the beach. The sun, though she was thoroughly shaded by the tree's palms, scorched her pale skin and the rising heat from the ground made it difficult to breath. She was beginning to sweat as well.

She removed her arm and stared at the crystal sky; the picturesque, boundless, oceanic blue that made her eyes burn as she stared into it, thinking how beautiful yet devastating it was; connecting it to _his _cruel, wonderful smile.

Her chest ached. She felt exhausted. She just wanted to be alone for a few days. She just wanted to get her act back together.

She just wanted to stop falling for perfectly wrong men.

She sniffled and wasn't very surprised to see that the memory she had been reliving had brought out some of her pent up emotions. It really was a pity she had to fall for the most awful, incorrigible, restless, foul and easiest man on the face of the Wizarding world. Someone who had once traipsed the halls of Hogwarts with faulty arrogance and dominated the grounds with his harsh bullying. Someone had once called her by vulgar names and nearly alienated her from her classmates. Someone who had stepped into the dark side and back. Someone who could have anything in the world yet at the same time denied to the world itself.

Someone like Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warning: **dark themes towards end._

_**Bad Faith**_

_by: Poisoned Scarlet_

_

* * *

_

**_IV_**

"_Go away."_

"_No, actually, I think I'll stay here."_

"_Malfoy. Can't you see you are not welcomed here?"_

"_Quite clearly."_

"_Then?"_

"_Well, Granger, I frankly don't give a damn what you want. What crawled up your arse and died?"_

"_Damn it—go AWAY, Malfoy."_

"_Not until you tell me what's eating you."_

"_Look, I find it quite adorable that you are willing to go to such lengths—"_

"—_I'm just being nosy, actually—"_

"—_to find out what is wrong with me but it is not welcomed!"_

_Scoff. "Right. You're dying for someone to spill your guts out right now and, Wizarding world to Granger, I'm willing!"_

_Pause. "You're not going to like it."_

"_Try me."_

"_I warned you."_

"_Are you done stalling?"_

"_... Ron keeps trying to initiate physical contact and he keeps trying to insinuate that I still have feelings for him and.. he wants to give 'us' a try again."_

_Silence._

_Chair scrapes back. "Fucking ginger boy is going to get Crucio'd!"_

"_NO! Malfoy!"_

"_Mother fucker is going to get pounded so badly he won't be able to wank off like the bloody cunt he is!"_

"_No—stop—Malfoy—no! Stop—damn it, DRACO LISTEN TO ME!"_

"_WHAT?!"_

"_LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_

"_Why the hell would I do that? He's dong it again, Granger, don't you see!? This time the victims Brown—err, Weasley! He's married, for fucks sake! Are you that blind woman?"_

"_I-I..."_

"_You didn't."_

"_I...look, I told him I would—"_

"_Granger. You fucking didn't."_

"_I just told him that I would meet—"_

"_You know what? Fuck you. I tried helping you and, frankly, if you don't want my bloody advice then damn well don't ask for it!"_

"_Malfoy, it's not—!"_

_Slam._

Hermione's eyes sprung open and the evening sun burned down her left arm. She shot up into a sitting position and pressed her clammy palm over her arm, wincing at the profound pain. The sun had burned into her tender pale flesh and, as she assessed the damage, she already knew it would be hurting for at least two weeks. It had a harsh, bright red tone to it.

Her mind was immersed in the dream, though, not the scalding ripples that tore up her arm. That event had happened nearly two months ago, which was why, she reasoned rather sullenly, he had not told her of his upcoming engagement.

After all, she had proven herself to be distrustful. But she _had_ followed some of his harsh advice. That was the difference. He was just too furious to notice. She _had_ stared at Ron, astonished at his audacity, and stopped herself from slapping him right then and there – though Draco had snidely said that if he tried something on her, she shouldn't hesitate. She _had_ stood up sharply, never breaking contact, and though Ron twisted his body to the side – as if anticipating she would leap into his arms – she only turned on her heel and stomped out of the small deli.

She hadn't spoken to him since and though he had tried to contact her, she didn't any of his letters. She was focused more on when she would see Draco, how she was going to dice him for lying to her about knowing how to work a microwave, and how she was going to enjoy cracking a smile out of him when she said something completely naïve and innocent.

She had noticed he seemed to smile more when she feigned ignorance. Which, half the time, was not on purpose. She was just that in tune with her inner martyr; was it really her fault she presumed others were as well?

Maybe.

Perhaps being with Harry so long was starting to affect her judgment...

Hermione gazed out into the setting sun, bright beams of orange, pink and purple streaking the sky. She could start to see the darkness consume everything that was once light. She looked out to the beach, finding it relatively empty. Several surfers sat on their boards, floating adrift as they spoke to one another conversationally. Some were still sitting out near the shore-line, watching the white, bubbling, foam rise and decline serenely.

She returned her pillow back to it's normal state – a book – and she collected her towel, wrapping it around her waist tightly. She took one more look out to the beautiful scenery – the radiant colours, the harmless people, the gentleness of it all – before heading back to her room.

She was tired and she could feel her throat choke up when she caught sight of a couple holding hands out by the receding shore-line.

It kind of hurt to see something that reminded her of what could have been.

* * *

Two hours later, after an hour of showering with warm water and an hour of hissing in pain when her arm burned, she heard the familiar _tap, tap _of an owl as it pecked glass. She walked into her hotels broad living room, watching the owl tap on her window thrice blankly. She shuffled to her cream leather couch instead and turned on the telly, hefting her feet on the glass coffee table and sinking into the fine material.

She didn't want any outside letters.

_But maybe its a letter from Karla, _she thought worriedly. _She did say she would owl me once she got the official return date... _Begrudgingly, she stood up again, heading towards the balcony door and sliding it open. The owl fluttered inside, perching itself on her dining table and shooting her mean glares.

She stared at the 'owl'.

It was a beautiful falcon rather than a plain-Jane owl. It's sharp, intellectual eyes bore into hers with unnerving accusation, almost reminding her of a certain blond...

She nipped her bottom lip and sat directly across from the magnificent animal. It glared back; preening it's feathers but never breaking eye contact. Unsure, she reached forward and nearly snapped her hand back when it sharply looked at it.

"May I please have the letter?" she asked, thinking that being polite would excuse her behavior. It ruffled it's feathers and deepened it's glare. "Look, can I just have it? I'm really tired and I don't need anymore complications," she sighed. "It's bad enough my best friend isn't at all my best friend!"

The reasons seemed to cool the bird. It hopped forward, stuck it's foot out, and seemed to huff away, staring at the set sun from the open balcony.

When Hermione grabbed the letter and offered the falcon a small treat – which it took with some reluctance – she was hesitant to open the letter. The falcon hadn't left so it was obviously waiting for a reply, something that made her even _more_ hesitant to open the piece of paper.

_Just do it, _she convinced herself poorly, _It won't hurt you if you read it. You have no obligation to answer – remember that._

She poked her finger under the neatly pressed seal, overlooking the blatant Malfoy crest, and tore it open just as neatly. She wiggled out the perfectly creased parchment. She stared at it, unsure of what to do next.

She slowly unraveled the letter and nearly flinched at the professionalism.

Oh, yes, he was beyond furious. She mused that he probably worked himself up again.

_Dear Granger,_

She wanted to stop there. Just the way he had written it – so perfect, so clean; nothing like his usual rather sloppy scrawl – set off the alarms in her head.

_It has come to my attention that you have recently decided to take your break and leave without any notice to anyone - _she wanted to bite her lip in guilt – _much less I. I will get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible: does this have anything to do with the Daily Prophet's announcement of my engagement?_

A strike of humiliation hit her dead on and she flushed a scarlet so dark she was sure it would take hours to go away. He had figured it out so quickly that it made her question just how 'clean' her departure was. If he had figured it out, surely others had, right?

But she didn't think of that. Instead she forced herself to believe her lies: she needed a break. She was overflowing with stress. Ron was being a bastard. She needed _space. _Those were valid enough reasons – technically half-truths.

In order to be a skillful liar you had to become the lie, right? You had to believe the lie as if it were truth. You had to find some loophole in the dishonesty; find some way to prove to yourself it is right and not wrong.

She was doing just that.

_If it is so then, Granger, you have to be the most gullible and naïve woman I have ever met. It was a bleeding joke, can you take a joke? Apparently not, since you took it so far up your arse. _

_But it does rouse some rather peculiar questions from me... if it is so, why did you flee London like a dog with it's tail between it's legs? _- her anger spiked at that – _Could it be that you have fallen for my charms? If so, I don't blame you. If I had to hang out with me I would probably fall for me too. _- she snorted at this; could he be anymore vain? - _but honestly don't you think you are overreacting? _- oh, she'd show you overreacting... -

_I shall be expecting your reply as you have managed to dodge two letters from me and probably five from Potter and the Weasley from what I've heard._

_Love, _

_Draco A. Malfoy._

She crumpled the letter in her hands, her cheeks coloring a dark shade of magenta. Did he think this was funny? She fumed. His obvious sarcasm-laced parting words? Love? _Really_?

She had never felt more humiliated and hurt in her twenty years of life. How could he treat her affections so flippantly? He probably thought this would be funny – unknowingly figuring out the whats, whys, and hows of her life and toying with them in the most inhumane way possible.

She pressed the crumpled parchment to her forehead, shutting her eyes to expel the urge to cry out her frustrations. She knew Draco Malfoy was not one to express his sincerity or emotions or _kindness _so easily but did he really have to go that far? Mocking her sentiments and hitting everything dead on – like always?

She tore the letter to shreds, ignoring the birds bewildered cawing, and hastily slammed the pieces on the table. She took a breath and she swallowed down her bile of rage before _accioing _a piece of parchment and a pen.

She'd show _him_ overreacting...

_Dear Malfoy,_

_Shut the hell up you bloody wanker._

_You don't know how bloody stressed and frustrated I am at the moment. Your sarcastic letter did nothing to ease these feelings – rather they intensified, thanks to you. I do hope you are God damn proud of that achievement. You should be awarded the best Asshole award – oh, wait, Ronald already has that. My apologies, you'll get the runner up award: Douche-bag extrodinaire._

_Have you noticed the pattern yet? You're always a runner up. Never good enough, right?_

_No, I am not one of your pretty little fangirls running around chasing after you. No, I have not 'fallen for your charm' as you say. No, I have not fled London because of what I read in the Daily Prophet – in fact, I laughed when I read it. It's utterly ridiculous; why marry when there are so many other eligible woman to shag, right?_

_Just so you know, that makes you a dumb man-whore. You could at least charge them._

_It would please me if you would leave me ALONE for at least two weeks, it would be greatly appreciated. I do NOT need your haughty attitude; I do NOT need your condescending comments; I do NOT need your absolute disregard for my feelings and I most definitely do NOT need to see your chauvinistic, sadistic, bloody-sinful, face at the moment._

_Do leave me ALONE._

_I hope all this gets through your thick, gel-poisoned, skull... you gigantic arse._

_As Sincerely As Possible, _

_Hermione Jean Granger._

Furiously, she signed her name at the bottom with impeccable script and rolled up the letter, sticking it into another envelope and tying it neatly onto the birds leg. The falcon regarded her briefly, watching as she marched over to the glass slide door, before flapping it's wings almost testily and taking off in a flurry of ebony.

Hermione leaned on the frame of the door, closing her eyes against the wave of nausea as her letters words sunk into her mind.

Her eyes snapped open.

Oh, God, what had she just done?

"No, wait, come back!" Hermione called, panicky, waving towards the bird disappearing in the ink black. But the bird seemed too far away for it to hear her and, if did, it probably ignored her. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no!" she groaned, dropping her face into her palm. If their friendship was strained before, it was shredded to piece now. And all because of a few careless words.

He'd probably blow a blood vessel when he read it, she thought miserably.

Why did she have to go screw up all of her relationships? Maybe this was why no one wanted to be with her – she was too callous with her words; she was too cold, too logical, too realistic, too _intimidating_ with the profuse knowledge she retained in her ever-spanning memory banks.

She was _too _much of everything, she realized dryly, dragging herself over to her bed. She hadn't the time to admire the pure woven silk; the golden, swirly _M _pressed upon the material. She just flopped herself atop her sheets, inhaled the jasmine scented pillows, and promptly drifted off into an uneasy sleep...

_She was under the covers of her newly washed sheets, reveling in the comfortable warmth. The day was dark and gloomy but that did nothing to dampen her rather good mood. The only thing that would make this day bad would be—_

"_ACHOO!" Hermione pressed a hand over her nose, closing her eyes against the wave of dizziness. Sickness. She felt her mood dampen considerably. _

_It had been a day since she had witnessed the distasteful scene between Draco and the busty, curvy blond. She tightened her hold on the sheets. _

And now I'm sick, _she thought moodily, sniffling and grimacing when her nose only clogged up more. _And it's all his bloody fault! _She closed her eyes and sunk deeper into her scented sheets._

_Then her door bell rang._

_She groaned and sunk deeper, deciding to ignore whoever was at the door. Probably another wizard bent on selling her some useless, muggle-invented, device that was compatible with magic..._

_The bell rung again. And again. And again. And again._

_Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and set her jaw._

_It rung seven more times this time – she counted._

_Then it rung in a melody suspiciously similar to that annoying elevator song she would be forced to bare everytime she went to work._

_And then it rung once more for good measure and she just about had it. She threw her covers off, not bothering with a robe, and stalked to the door, where she threw it open; ready to scream the other persons brains out._

_Too bad the person at the door was one finely dressed Draco Malfoy – though he was always finely dressed, so she didn't put much mind to it._

_Her muddled mind could barely register the ticked expression on his face that quickly turned into concern and then fury._

"_You're ill." He stated obviously._

"_No shit." She fired back._

_She could see the muscles in his jaw sit taut against his alabaster skin. He leaned on the door frame and asked, "Are you going to invite me in?"_

"_I don't have to – you would enter regardless," she answered snappishly, leaving the door open and shuffling back to the warmth of her bed. She heard the door close and lock behind her but she paid no mind to it – she just wanted to crawl into bed and go back to her dream._

_A dream which included one groveling Malfoy and one grinning Hermione. A faint smile passed her lips and she didn't even register that she had stopped, in the middle of the hall, and stared into space for about five minutes._

"_Granger?"_

_She imagined his pleading expression and felt her mood start to lighten._

"_Are you alright there?"_

_The corners of her lips twitched downwards when she saw the scene switch to something unpleasant._

"_Granger? Wizarding world to Granger?"_

_Something black was passing back and forth across her vision. She was set on the repeating scene in her mind, though: Draco. A woman. Touching. Smiling. Laughing._

_She felt something burn furiously inside her chest._

"_GRANGER! Potter and Weasel have been interned in St. Mungo's!"_

"_Liar," she whispered softly, slowly drifting to reality. "Harry's working on a case and Ron's touring around Asia – something about Quidditch..." she trailed off, taking a step and pausing when a dizzy spell hit her full on. She sniffled, shut her dry eyes, and raised her hand to cover a rather violent, rather hoarse cough. "Ohhh" was all she managed to croak._

_She felt his hand press against her back and a strong warmth envelop her. She found herself leaning towards the heat source and felt it stiffen but she only leaned even further. Whatever it was felt nice and she had no qualms about surrendering to the heat. _

"_Granger!" His voice was faraway – she only closed her eyes and settled into the soft, warm darkness._

"Hermione Granger, wake up! Come on – get up, you witch!"

She was jolted awake, the sheets slipping from beneath her and in her hazy mind she knew someone was beginning to dump her off the mattress.

Sometimes she hated her intellect because that was exactly what happened.

She fell to the floor in a heap of clothes and scrambled up only to see only furious Draco Malfoy standing at the frame of her door, clothed excellently in black, face red with ire.

"W-What," she sputtered. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he echoed snottily. "Granger, you better pray I don't decide to ruin your bloody organized life this instant!" He had his wand drawn, she noticed alarmingly, and her own wand was camouflaging amongst the many pillows on her bed...

That was when she noticed the crest; the awfully enticing, golden, regal _M _pressed onto every hotel article. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at its significance.

"You... why," she cleared her throat uneasily. "Why is the Malfoy emblem on these objects?" She picked up the closets pillow, fingering the smooth silk.

"Because I own it, that's why," he spat. "And I want to know what the hell is your problem!"

"My problem?!" she snapped, temporarily forgetting the pillows. "My problem is frankly none of your business, Malfoy." She threw the pillow back on the bed, angry she had even admired the thing. It was just as rotten as the man behind the name.

"Are you on your rag or something, woman!?" he cried, incredulous.

"No! I'm not, you jerk! I haven't a clue what you are talking about!"

"Don't act stupid – it does not become you," he replied coldly. Somehow she felt that his unreasonable yells were much better than this cold, uncaring tone of his. It was with this tone that he said the most cutting words.

"Is this about the letter?" she asked carefully, watching his face fall into something between apathy and irritation.

"Yes."

Hermione felt her throat tighten. He hadn't replied sarcastically... usually he would take very opportunity to somehow stump her with his comments. But now he was only standing still, watching her through those mysterious eyes of his.

She didn't say anything. She kept her grounds on the other side of the bed – glad that the king mattress could be used as a shield should the situation get out of hand.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. She didn't want to _duel _him... she knew fairly well he would come out victorious. She had seen him duel, for fun, with a few of his friends. And even though the atmosphere was completely playful and safe, their spells were not. Hermione was horrified how many dark spells they had shot at one another.

They spoke in different languages – rays of light shooting out of their wands – and they sometimes just flicked their wands and she would watch as the opponent slammed into a wall or was even reduced to his knees; face drawn in agony.

She had never told Draco, who looked as if he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, how sick she had felt to her stomach. The duel had reminded her too much of the war. It had made her hands ache, her head throb, and her chest tighten with emotion. She remembered excusing herself, heading to the loo where she pressed her cheek against the cold mirror and watched her breath fog it over...

"What are you playing at?" came his soft question. If she wasn't paying attention, she was sure she wouldn't have heard it.

"I'm not playing at anything," she answered just as softly. She noticed his stance had relaxed. He had calmed himself down, something that quite disturbed her. Usually he would bask in his fury – letting the darkness creep into his being and possess his logic. He would run his mouth, spew the coldest, boldest things. She had been with him long enough – long enough to know she did not want to be at the receiving end. If she thought what he did to her during her school days had been harsh, it was worse when he truly meant it. Gender was not a problem; he would kill you with his words regardless.

Sometimes she wondered why he had never gone full-out on her... didn't he hate her during their school days?

He said nothing.

She sat on the edge of the bed, setting her hands to smooth over her skirt only to freeze. Her legs were bare. In fact, she was still clad in her black, tight, bikini. Her fingers ran over naked flesh, feeling goosebumps rise.

She slowly turned her head, staring at him in silent shock.

A grin broke his mask.

"It was about time you noticed, Granger," he purred, her face heating up when she saw how his eyes drunk her in. "Nice body you have under those horrid clothes of yours. I might even call you _attractive_," he said, laughter lacing his words. He looked as if he was restraining a full-out laughing fit.

Hermione would bet everything she had he was.

She could feel her muscles twitch in restraint. "You.... you... you _conniving, awful, foul, mean LITTLE FERRET!!_" She stood up and sprinted towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, gritting his teeth when she heard his hysterical laughter boom from the other side of the door.

She looked down at herself, at her flat belly and her shapely legs. She looked again. Her belly didn't look _that _flat. Not like Ginny's or Padmas' or her co-workers. She was a bit more plump than her friends; she could see her stomach swell out, enhancing her waist and bottom.

Grabbing one of the nicely folded towels sitting atop a wrought table, she tied it around her waist and looked at her chest – it being restrained by a single flimsy piece of cloth. She didn't know what possessed her to do what she did but she inhaled, gripped the door knob, and threw it open, finding Draco lounging on her bed, rereading what looked like her letter; a chuckle escaping him once in a while.

"Impressive," he said exaggeratedly, "it seems my presence has done it's damage – this is almost something _I _would write. You did hit below the belt with the 'runner up' thing, though." He folded it twice and slipped it into his black coat, which she just noticed. He was dressed for cold weather. "But you still hold back. I might have to influence you a little more..." She didn't like the way his voice lowered darkly.

"What are you doing here?" she persisted. "I made it quite clear in the letter that I wanted to be alone."

"I was never one to follow orders," he drawled.

She scoffed.

Malfoy looked up sharply. "What?"

"Nothing." She crossed her arms. "Nothing at all."

"Spit it out." He snarled. "Do it. Do it, Granger. I dare you."

She hesitated, for one single moment, and that was all he needed.

He barked a harsh laugh. "This is why you always get hurt, Granger – there _is_ no hesitation in this world. Your entire life has thrived upon hesitation, actually," he drawled slyly, watching her closely. "The Weasley, your tests, your little _adventures _with Potter and his dimwitted right-hand man. You would never do that – break the rules. Break _magical laws_. Your hesitation would never allow you to. You never take risks, _Hermione. _And you wonder why your life is going the way it is..."

She clenched her jaw. "Don't presume you know me, Malfoy."

"I don't know you," he smirked. "I don't _need _to know someone as predictable as you." But he knew it wasn't true – she was the most unpredictable specie on this planet. He was always on his toes around her, always watching her for _something _to hint her next move.

Hermione clenched her fists. "You are really starting to piss me off." She threatened.

"Oh, I'm so afraid," he mocked, but he did prop himself up on an elbow and straightened himself.

She swallowed her anger with one, single, scratch on the inside of her wrist. She forced herself to not explode, as he was so eagerly awaiting; his usually light gray eyes dark with bottled up emotion. Instead she stalked right out the door, hearing him shuffle after her, and grabbed her book off the table. She walked towards the door only to have an arm block her way. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She really didn't need this.

It was bad enough her stomach was so tight with dread, humiliation, and relief. Yes, relief. Relief because he had confirmed he had been joking. Relief that she still had a chance. Relief that he was still as free as his prestigious name allowed him to be. But with relief came the dread. She dreaded screwing this up more than it already was. She dreaded his demanding personality managing to slip through the cracks of her walls. She dreaded the imminent honesty that was soon to come. She dreaded the methods that would be used to spur that honesty.

She knew why he had come. He wanted to rub it in her face – he wanted her to _say _that she loved him. He knew. She had a sneaking suspicion he had known for a while now. Ever since that time.. when she first saw his smile.

Well, she wasn't going to submit. No, not on her watch she wasn't. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of immersing deeper into these feelings; using her like he does to the rest of his admirers. She was going to fight. She was going to do all in her power to stifle the emotion – the warmth.

For the simple reason that she didn't want her heart crushed into pieces just because he was _right._

So maybe she didn't take risks. Maybe she just wasn't a risk taker like Ginny or Harry. Maybe she liked living in security, and could you really blame her? Security was the place where everything was _safe _and _harmless. _Risk, risk was a city where everything was _hazardous _and perhaps daunting to the untrained risk_er_.

She was basically new to this whole "risk" thing and frankly she had never liked it. She had, of course, taken risks. A lot of them. And most of them had worked out for the most part. But the thing was the infinite fear and sheer nerve-wracking aches that assaulted her being was something she never wanted to experience again. It was horrible. But the relief she felt immediately afterwards was... _indescribable._

But somehow she knew that confessing her unreasonable feelings to an unreasonable man would not work out.

So she did the only thing she could do: distract him.

"Move."

"No. We're not finished here."

"I believe we are." She grabbed his arm, ignoring the mutant bats in her stomach, and tried to shove it away. But years of Quidditch training had made his arm as strong as steel.

"I think not." He grabbed her arm and she hissed, stepping back and grabbing it. She swore and spun on her heel and counted to ten, ignoring the pulsating throbs her arm reveled in.

"Oh, come on!" She heard him yell. "I didn't grab you _that_ hard!"

"It's not that," she said through clenched teeth. She suddenly felt him behind her. Her bare skin prickled in excitement when she felt his breath on her burned shoulder – somehow soothing the paining waves that vibrated down her arm.

"You stupid girl. You didn't put sunblock on, did you?" he murmured, gently grabbing her arm and slipping out his wand from his trousers pocket. "I thought you knew better than this."

"I fell asleep," she admitted, swallowing down the mutant bats that threatened to flap up her throat.

He snorted in return but said nothing else as he swiped his wand and muttered a quick charm, which slowly began to lighten the rogue, burnt skin. Gradually, the burning dwindled and soon the pain was ignorable.

She wrenched her arm away and took one step to the side.

Draco scoffed, hiding a snicker, and slipped his wand into his pocket again.

There was a long, seething pause.

"... If I knew your family owned this _muggle _hotel I would have never even come here in the first place."

"Just so you know, _I_ boughtthis hotel with my own _money _about five months ago. Best damn investment I've ever made for several reasons."

Hermione scowled.

Draco only smirked.

"It's not that nice," she commented flippantly.

"Oh, really? What seems to be the problem?" He seemed more amused than anything.

Hermione quickly scanned the area as quickly as she could for any imperfections... and she found none. Everything was well-kept; the walls were well-painted; the room smelled lovely; and everything was brand-new and perfectly put.

"I'm waiting."

She could literally _feel _the smugness simply radiate from his body. "It's perfection!" she blurted.

He rose both brows in disbelief. "_What?_"

"It's perfection," she repeated, more confident. "It's perfection is it's flaw."

He shook his head slowly, chuckling. "You are impossible."

"Say's the most impossible, unreasonable man on the face of this Earth," she fired back, cursing the playful ring in her words. He always managed to get her like that: defenseless.

_The calm before the storm,_ she thought absently. _Almost there._

"Well, you happen to be the most hesitant woman on this planet," he said with that same smugness. She felt herself hesitate to answer – something which made her want to face-palm herself – but only wove an arm under his own to reach the knob.

She pushed the door open with her finger tips, a crisp blow of air calming her irritated skin.

"Hesitant, hesitant – as always," he tsked disapprovingly. "Where's the fun in living such a secure, well-sought for life?"

"Everything is predictable." She whispered, pushing his arm. It budged.

"Boring."

"It's safer."

"Boring."

"You don't get hurt as often."

His lips turned upward. "Hurt?"

Her stomach plummeted to her ankles.

"Yes, hurt." She pushed his arm again and it slid slightly down. If she were to just duck under it...

"Hurt how?"

"I don't know," she mumbled frustratingly. "Physically, emotionally."

"Emotionally?"

_Uh oh, _she thought with growing alarm. "Yes, I believe we covered that."

"Emotionally how?"

"I think you know how, Malfoy, now move."

"No, no – it's fuzzy, explain it to me, oh-wise one."

"Emotionally – dealing with relationships – _feelings_, something _you_ apparently don't have."

"Really now... and these 'feelings' – you're afraid of having them hurt?"

"Now I never said that—"

"But you implied it," he piped.

She gnawed on her lip. "Could we please stop with this question-answer game? What do you really want to know, Malfoy?"

"Why did you leave London?"

"Because I was tired."

"Lair, why did you leave London? I won't ask you again, Granger, so you better just cough it up!"

"As if you should be talking, you rotten ferret! I'm honest unlike you: I was _tired. _Exhausted. Wrung out. In need of a vacation, like everyone else had _said_."

"Since when do you listen to those wankers?!"

"Since I figured out that perhaps they are _right_!"

"But you love to work!" he cried in accusation. "You _like _to do this: work. You enjoy writing until you get carpel tunnel and you _like _over-analyzing every single article you read. You enjoy handing in reports and letting your boss suck up on you for at least ten minutes. You like working on the most difficult cases; you like mothering Potter and the Weasel at work and you _like _to badger me into getting me to do _my _work – to little success, mind you – and, now, why would the great Hermione Granger leave in the middle of _working_ season?" he questioned rhetorically, boring his sickly amused eyes into hers.

He might as well be slamming her on the head with a metal pan: he was picking out all of the flaws she was blind to in that distressing state of her being not so long ago. All the flaws she managed to ignore. Everything.

"Because she decided to take a risk?" She said testily.

"Wrong," he negated harshly. "Because she happened to read that days _Daily Prophet _and she _believed _these bloody awful excuses' for _tabloids._"

"That's not true!" she yelled defensively.

He reached into his back pocket, drawing out that days _Daily Prophet. _"Is it?" he asked sadistically, watching her flinch away from it before raising her chocolate eyes with rekindled fury.

"Christ—I hate you! Why can't you just take the hint that no one fucking wants you here?!" She stepped back, squeezing her hands into fists; wishing she had her wand, for then she could quickly disapparate to a more stable ground than the one she was standing on.

"Wrong again," he continued mercilessly. "Just the opposite of that, actually; you're almost there." His lips curled into a smirk, crushing her heart with it's vindictive edges. The more he displayed his dark joy, the more restricted her lungs felt. She absolutely loathed the way he was slowly pulling the information from her – with no remorse at all. She wondered how many other girls had to suffer through this cruel interrogation of their feelings; the stripping of layers until only raw emotion was left behind in it's wake.

She could see those ardent quicksilver eyes of his burn with black relish.

"Just leave!" Her calf bumped with the coffee table. "Hell—just _leave_!"

"I will, I promise, once I get my answer." He came closer to her, catching her in his cat-like gaze. "Tell me the real reason why you left London, Hermione."

"Because I was tired," she persevered weakly.

"Why don't you just give that up now. You and I both know that excuse won't hold out for long..." His stride was predatory, slyly rounding the table and standing before her again; choking out whatever comfortable space she had left.

"But it's the truth."

"Deceit doesn't become you," he hissed in her ear. "You might as well tell me why. I don't think I can humiliate you more than I already have... or do you wish to try me, Hermione?" He grabbed one of her abundant curls. "I have no qualms in making you feel like the lowest scum you can be. If you thought being a mudblood was bad, you know well enough I can make you stoop _lower, _darling." He rubbed her chocolate curl with his fingers and she felt her stomach lunge in terror. Her throat closed up, her eyes watered, and her stomach hurt so much.

"FINE!" She screamed, shoving him back, relishing the shock that fleeted through his features. "Fine, I'll tell you the bloody reason why I left London! You were right – you were right, like always," she seethed. "I left because of that stupid newspaper. I left because when I was heading towards Harry's office I overheard you proving that damn thing right. I left because I _feel _things for your worthless life! Is that what you wanted to hear? Is it? Do you feel so Godly now, Malfoy? DO YOU?!" She sucked in a sob, running a hand under her nose. She wouldn't cry in front of him.

He wasn't worth it.

He was still for a moment. "Not quite." He grabbed her shoulders and made her look up at him, into his boundless pools of mercury. "Say it."

She lowered her gaze; he grabbed her chin and reconnected their eyes. "Say it," he breathed into her ear.

"I-I... I.." She shut her eyes. She could feel her own words kill her. She had done what Harry and Ron and everyone else had warned her about.

"_Hermione... you and Malfoy have been hanging out a lot."_

"_Yes – is there a problem, Harry?"_

"_NO! Well, it's just.. do... do..."_

"_What? Heh, Harry, just tell me."_

"_Do... do you like him?"_

"_WHAT?! Hahaha! Harry, that's preposterous! Why would _I_ ever like a ferret like him?"_

She had done it. She had let her curiosity run boundless. She had let it dig deeper into the dark, tarnished remnants of a Malfoy's heart. She should have known better, really, for why would someone who had a gap for a heart ever manage to seal it back up just for her?

"I love you," she choked bitterly.

"See?" he whispered almost lovingly, brushing his lips over her temple as tears streaked down her cheeks. He ran his hand down one of them, collecting her agonized emotions on the tips of his fingers and sending them flying with a single flick of the wrist. "That wasn't hard, now was it?"

She gave a jerky hiccup and he pressed his palm to the base of her neck. It was cold, freezing; just like him.

"By the way, Potter's currently in a tizzy as to where you are." Joy rang in his words. "I'll be sure to leave him a note when I get back... and when you get back in, say, three weeks, wouldn't you fancy some tea at that cafe you wanted to go to last time we spoke?" There was derision in his voice, but that masked something else. Something completely different.

Something that made her utterly crushed and stomped on heart give one, last beat.

Soon his hand was gone... and sooner after that he was gone, his lean silhouette ghosting over her continuously; reminding her of all the reasons she liked him, scratching out black lines over all the imperfections he was riddled with.

She shakily walked to the black leather couch, sitting on it; falling to the side and pressing one of the cashmere pillows to her chest, blinking her eyes to rid the excess tears only to have more come in it's place.

The golden _M _embossed in the pillow gleamed back at her almost mockingly in the soothing stream of the moon but all she felt was a drifting numbness settle over her.

As she drifted off into sleep, a cold setting in her chest, she gradually realized that he had made her do something, prove something; as he always did. She knew how much it would hurt, how much he'd make her hurt, to see if she would come back. He left her with one last undying question.

Will take another risk and go back to him?

She closed her eyes. There was a sort of peace in her heart, though, despite all the sorrow and endless tunnels of ridicule he'd made her go through.

She decided that perhaps she _would _go back to him. She'd do what all other women feared of doing after something like this. She's go back.

Just to prove to him that she, Hermione Granger, was not one to leave a project unfinished nor was she one to simply deny a challenge.

She smiled coldly.

She always was a high and mighty, prideful, _courageous, _Gryffindor at heart, as he always put.

But, at that moment, she didn't think it was a bad thing.

* * *

**A/N: It had a dark, hopeful, ending. If you managed to catch the rather obvious hints (well, they were obvious to me but then again I wrote them) then you can predict the outcome of their relationship. I really do hope I managed to capture their personalities. Inu Star Angel was right - they both are quite challenging characters to write but I had fun writing it. I hope you all had fun reading it lol.  
**

_**Please, REVIEW!! It wouldn't hurt... right?**_

_Scarlett._


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